


Show Me Your Teeth

by filthy_rat



Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: F/M, PWP, illidan needs love too, set during future post-legion times
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-03
Updated: 2017-09-03
Packaged: 2018-12-23 04:01:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11981709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/filthy_rat/pseuds/filthy_rat
Summary: For years, Illidan Stormrage had believed that love and friendships were luxuries he could never afford. His mind consumed with the eradication of the Burning Legion, he had long since given up on such trivialities. But one stubborn illidari under his command is determined to change that.





	Show Me Your Teeth

The Fel Hammer was abuzz with activity. Lord Illidan was visiting today, inspecting his illidari and overseeing the ship’s operations for a time. There was little need for it now, with the Legion’s forces on the run on Argus, but Illidan was never one for idleness. The demon hunters scurried about the ship, tossing the dead demons they had used for practice dummies overboard into the abyss below and polishing away the little flaws in themselves and their operation.

Of all the illidari excited for this visit, Aloraia was probably the one who anticipated it the most. It had been years ago now, but Illidan had saved her from the Legion himself, when the demons had slaughtered everyone she knew and loved. Nothing left of her but rage and hatred, she had come to him, been among the first to accept his offer, to undertake the illidari initiation. Sacrificing her eyes for his cause. To destroy the Burning Legion.

At least, that was what she had told herself. That her desire to obey his every command, to follow him into war, to _die_ for him, was borne of nothing but her lust for revenge against the Legion.

Since she had been among the first illidari, she had spent time under his direct tutelage. He had trained her, mind and body, and that was when she had truly fallen for him. How could she not? Rescuing her from certain death, training her to be a deadly weapon, setting her loose upon the world to fulfill her destructive purpose -- he had given her a life she could’ve never imagined. The romantic human tales she heard in Dalaran had nothing on this.

But to him, she knew she was nothing more than a soldier. A warrior. A body to fight for the cause. An instrument to orchestrate the end of the Legion. Even if sometimes she had caught his gaze lingering on her for longer than the other trainees. Or had she imagined those long, quiet glances, stolen from another time? After years, she had come to terms with it. Her duties on the Broken Isles and later on Argus kept her distracted, kept her away. Always another demon to kill, always something to explore.

But now he was here, he was within feet of her, and the question of _what if_ would not leave her mind. His massive frame practically filled the archway as he stepped through, his leathery wings rustling. He stood, commanding and fearsome, as they all looked up at him from below. There was a small smile curving his lips.

“Illidari!” he said, his voice a rumbling boom that sounded more like an avalanche cascading from Highmountain’s peak. Aloraia’s lips twitched into a small, breathtaken smile. “You have done well! At every turn we have bested the Burning Legion, and there survives but a few pockets of the filthy creatures on Argus!” A cacophonous cheer arose from the throng of demon hunters, but Illidan lifted his hands to silence them. “They are on the retreat, and the tide has been turned, but we must remain vigilant! We must hunt them all to the last if Azeroth is to ever be safe. And we… will be… _prepared!_ ”

The last word of his speech was a roar, and a deafening cry erupted from the many illidari. They shouted his name like a battlecry, but one amongst their number was silent.

Illidan raised his hands and the cacophony died immediately. “As you were, demon hunters. I will make my own inspections in due time.”

He turned away from the crowd and addressed the blood elf demon hunter at his side, Kayn Sunfury, his second-in-command. As the crowd around her dispersed and the illidari began turning their attention to other things, Aloraia navigated her way towards Illidan.

If she could just _talk_ to him, maybe…

“Lord Illidan!” she said, breathlessly coming to a stop before him. Her heart leapt in her throat, and she swallowed hard to resettle it.

Illidan looked up from his conversation with Kayn, arching a curious brow in her direction. The blindfold he wore made it impossible to read his expression. Did he recognize her? Did he even remember rescuing a scrawny night elf from the Legion all those years ago?

“Yes?”

Uh oh. Aloraia’s eyes darted to Kayn and back to Illidan. She hadn’t thought she’d get this far, and now it was as if every word in her vocabulary had been forgotten. “Uhhh…”

Kayn quickly stepped between Illidan’s gaze and Aloraia, hoping to block her from view. “Don’t mind her, Lord Illidan, she’s not feeling well. Bad stew,” he said. “Now, this way we have your --”

“Quarters!” interrupted Aloraia, pushing Kayn out of the way and taking a step closer to Illidan. Kayn looked absolutely affronted at being shoved. “Yes, your quarters, we had the-the demons open a room -- they’d kept it a secret -- For-for your chambers while you stay with us.”

The sentence came out in a long and jumbled mess. Her face and ears burned with chagrin as both Kayn and Illidan stared at her in open bewilderment.

“...That will be all, Lieutenant,” said Illidan at long last, although he kept his eyes fixed on Aloraia, who refused to meet his gaze.

Shooting her the dirtiest look he could muster, Kayn turned and marched stiffly away. No doubt to punish the new training dummies for this.

“Lead the way, Aloraia.”

Her heart surged and she dared a glance at him. His face was impassive, save for the wry turn of his lips at one corner. _He did remember!_ She hadn’t dared to hope, refused to allow herself even the fantasy of their reunion after all these years, but --

He cleared his throat expectantly.

Shit. “Right this way,” she said, and thanked whatever gods were listening that her voice hadn’t come out a squeak.

She led him wordlessly down corridors to a nondescript stone door in the bowels of the ship, listening to the sounds of his hooves echoing off the stone floor as he followed.  With a massive push, the door swung wide revealing a small, circular room, dimly lit with two felfire braziers on either side of the doorway. A pile of thick furs had been assembled and placed to one side for his makeshift bed, and a wooden table carrying a glass bottle of water stood opposite them. Another closed door leading to a second chamber was opposite them. There was no other furnishings to speak of.

As Illidan stepped past her into the room, she dropped to one knee, dutifully lowering her gaze.

“There is no need for formalities,” he said, his rumbling voice echoing from within the chamber. “Come, enter. I would speak with you alone.”

Heart thumping painfully fast in her throat, Aloraia got to her feet and obeyed, closing the stone door behind her. Alone in Illidan’s quarters. For a brief moment, her mind battled itself on what to feel -- fear or excitement. She’d rather be facing the Burning Legion in combat than Lord Illidan in conversation, but she wasn’t going to squander this opportunity.

“I remember you,” said Illidan, crossing the room to the little table and lifting the bottle to his nose. He gave it an experimental sniff, testing for poison no doubt, before dumping the contents on the floor. The water sizzled upon contact. “The Legion had slaughtered your family, everyone down to the babes in their mothers’ arms.” His nose wrinkled in abject disgust, and his gaze turned to her.

Aloraia’s eyes were downcast, focusing on her bare toes.“...You saved me from sharing their fate, Lord Illidan.”

“Yes, and you answered the call to battle the Legion. Nothing but rage and a lust for revenge to fuel you,” he said, stepping closer to her. “So eager and willing to make the sacrifices necessary. You fought on Argus?”

“Yes.”

Illidan nodded, but said no more. He was never one for unnecessary chatter. He studied her instead, comparing her to the scrawny young woman cowering in fear in his memory. She had grown, matured from a terrified youngling just on the cusp of adulthood, into a capable, battle-hardened warrior to be feared. The years had been kind to her.

Had she noticed the stolen glances chanced from across the training yard?

His favorite memories were of his time spent training the first recruits, and he had to admit that she had stood out from her peers. When it would rain during their exercises and her hair would cling to her forehead and neck, when the water dripped from her lips and followed the hard lines of her gaunt torso. When she bared her teeth with ferocity and sent the droplets cascading in wide circles around her as she spun. He had found himself drawn to her, watching her attack her foes like a wild animal -- beautiful and deadly.

And now she was here, and she was finally meeting his gaze. There was a steely determination there, in the expression she wore, and even with the blindfold he could see it clear as daybreak.

“Lord Illidan, I can keep silent no longer. You must know that everything I have done, all that I have sacrificed, I have done for _you._ ”

The words hung in the air, heavy and pointed. Her voice was quiet, but it rattled him like she had shouted. He blinked, once, twice, shook his head as if to clear it. _What is this?_

“What? No, you did it because the Legion needs to be stopped. Because they slaughtered your family. Because they _took_ all you had ever known, stole it from you, and you wanted revenge!” He was nearly shouting now, desperate, trying to force her to listen to reason. _He was not a good enough reason._

She turned away from him, shaking her head in a gesture of disbelief. “You are a _fool,_ Illidan.”

It suddenly felt as if he’d been sucker punched. “What?”

Her head whipped round to saddle him with that stony gaze of hers, and as she spoke, she advanced on him.“I have _bled_ for this cause. And for your endless war against the Burning Legion, I have killed thousands. But I didn’t burn out my own eyes for the dead! For people I can barely even remember anymore.”

Illidan shook his head again, like an irritated horse shooing a bothersome fly, willing this to be some falsehood. Some demon trick. It can’t be, _it can’t be..._

“...I know that I am not Tyrande…”

The blood in his veins turned to ice at the name. How long had it been since he had thought of _that name?_

“But that doesn’t mean that what I feel for you is a lie. And if you cannot see that, then you truly are blind.”

Illidan’s head spun as he grappled with the sudden weight this conversation had taken. How long had he crushed any emotion other than rage? How long had he told himself that love and friendship were luxuries he simply could not afford? How long had he given up on being anything more than a monster, obsessed with war? Guilt consumed him. How many others had taken the mantle of illidari for his approval, for his love? The idea made him feel sick.

She was staring at him, unmoving. Unwavering. In retrospect, he might’ve trained her a little _too_ well.

“I did not ask this of you,” he said.

“And yet here I am, and here I will stay until I no longer draw breath,” she replied, and her hands curled into fists at her side. The declaration was so quiet his ears strained to hear it, and yet it seemed to reverberate within him like a scream. Gritting his teeth, Illidan gave a grunt of frustration and shook his head.

“Aloraia, listen to reason. I am not worthy of this, of your sacrifices and your suffering. You joined the illidari to fight the Legion. To get revenge. _To save Azeroth_.”

“No, Illidan. For years I have tried to tell myself that what I felt for you was nothing more than gratitude for saving my life, for putting me on this path, but I...” She shook her head, unable to continue.

He took a step closer, teeth bared in anger. He towered over her, hulking and massive.

A thrill of fear surged through her, the same thrill that always made her heart catch in her throat whenever her master drew near. Every instinct she had screamed to avert her gaze from him, to show reverence, but she stamped it down. She would _not_ let this go, she would not acquiesce. Aloraia had a stubborn streak wider than an elekk’s backside.

The moment stretched on between them, silent and uncomfortable. Time seemed to slow to a halt.

With a barely restrained growl of desire, Illidan suddenly rushed towards her, closing the short distance between them, and laid claim to her mouth with his. His solid, firm frame caged her against the rough stone door, trapping her to his bare chest. Sharp teeth scraped against her lips and she tasted the salty tang of her own fel blood. His large, leathery wings unfurled, enveloping the pair of them and basking them in semi-darkness.

There was nothing gentle or soft or kind about Illidan, and she expected no less from his kisses, but the ferocity with which he claimed her mouth was an assault to the senses. She was overwhelmed and unsteady on her feet and could only cling helplessly to his stony torso under the onslaught. Every inch of her vibrated with adrenaline. Her hands tangled in his mane of long black hair, fingers curling tightly, anchoring her to him. A tornado could not have moved her.

He tasted like nothing she could ever describe.

Mouth still working forcefully against hers, his growls and groans of raw desire punctuating the breathless silence, Illidan’s clawed hands encircled her waist. Experienced in the craft of war more than this intimate dance, he held her body like a warrior held a sword. He gripped her hips hard enough to bruise, claws pricking her lavender skin, yanking her further against him, and the stiffening press of his arousal elicited a moan from her swollen lips. _Mine,_ he seemed to say, _All mine._

Illidan’s lips moved, breaking the crushing kiss to taste the rest of her fel-scarred skin.  He dipped his head, being mindful of his horns and hers, and brought his edged mouth to her neck. His teeth dug into her yielding skin at the place where her shoulder and neck met, and she cried out in both surprise and pleasure, arching against him. His lips moved again, his teeth dug in, he marked her for the world to see, all the while grinding his his aching hardness against her until she thought she might go mad with desire. Another cavernous growl escaped him and his arms curled possessively around her waist. His claws dug shallow cuts into the flesh of her back and hips. She lowered her hands to explore his torso freely, relishing him.

He felt as if he were carved from stone. Beneath her fingers, she felt the steady drumming of his heart, and it quickened at her touch.

Suddenly, Illidan’s hands were working with remarkable deftness on the ties to her chest piece, freeing her from the tyranny of clothes, and she was abruptly nude from the waist up. Hungrily, his mouth descended, hot and so eager, and soon her breasts were peppered with fresh bite marks. His tongue found her nipples and moans of ecstasy escaped her. Every noise she rewarded him made the stiffness in his trousers twitch with anticipation.

Seduced by the euphoria of this intimacy, Aloraia had become putty in his hands, malleable and yielding. She barely noticed he had loosened her leather breeches until they were impatiently invaded by his questing hand. His fingers found that wet heat between her thighs with ease. His glowing eyes followed her every movement as he tormented her, caressing her outer lips with surprising tenderness. He found her clit quickly and stroked the slick bud with little circles of his fingertips. She inhaled sharply through gritted teeth and left red trails down his shoulders with her claws. After a moment, he withdrew his hand and looked at it. His digits glistened with her wetness and his lips curved into a wolfish grin. When he licked them clean, she bit down hard on her bottom lip to stifle herself.

“Is this what you wanted? To be _ravished_ by a monster?” growled Illidan in her ear, and he meant it to be imposing, fearsome. But she could hear the slight raggedness to his breathing, she could feel his cock twitch with yearning. This was torturing him just as much as her.

She slipped a hand between them and cupped his cock through his trousers. She flexed her long, sharp fingers around his girth, watching his face as she stroked him laboriously slow and light as a feather. For a moment, Illidan attempted to betray nothing in his expression, but she gave his shaft a light squeeze and he broke, groaning aloud with pleasure as his eyes closed. His breathing grew even huskier and shallow as she teased him, and again she felt the bite of his claws along her hip as his hand squeezed.

For a few brief moments, the pair of them stayed like that, entwined against the wall, teasing the other with slight touches and fierce kisses, until Illidan could take it no longer.

With a short snarl of frustration, he suddenly hoisted her off her feet and carried her to the nearby pile of furs that served as his bed. Unceremoniously, he deposited her on the pile, and with all the patience of a child opening his Winter Veil gifts, quite literally _ripped_ her breeches from her legs.

“No need for these,” he muttered, tossing the scraps of fabric away and turning back to his prize.

Left in only her smalls now, Aloraia leaned back on her palms, thighs spread tantalizingly wide, and relished the dark hunger in his gaze as he appraised her. The chill of his quarters raised gooseflesh across her skin and perked her nipples -- a fact that did not go unnoticed by Illidan.

His hand grasped her thigh, callused fingers sliding across scarred purple skin, savoring the feel of her. He yanked, _hard,_ pulling her towards him and laying her flat on her back. With a low, feral rumble, his body overlapped hers, theirs mouths again meeting feverishly, desperately, both giving and taking in equal measure. Illidan forged a heated trail to her nipple with his teeth and tongue and lips, taking the hardened peak into his mouth until she wriggled and gasped and moaned aloud, tortured with pleasure.

When it became too much, she took a fistful of his hair and tugged. He lifted his head, but only to shoot her a quick sharp-toothed smirk, and immediately turned his attention to her unattended breast.

“Bastard,” Aloraia gasped, arching as Illidan nibbled her nipple with his teeth, sending a white-hot shock of pain and pleasure coursing through her. Again she felt the insistent nudge of his stiff cock against her inner thigh, and she swallowed a piteous whine.

Illidan looked up, apparently all too pleased with himself, if the smile on his face was any judge. His arm coiled around her hips, lifting them to meet his. He ground his trapped cock against her slowly, deliberately, building a delicious friction between them, and allowing feral groans to escape his lips. Even though he wore a blindfold, she felt his gaze intently as he pressed himself almost mindlessly against her, drinking in her reactions.

“Lord Illidan,” begged Aloraia, knowing this game was torturous to him as well. “Please…” Her hands slipped between them to caress the place where his skin met the waistband of his trousers. Her fingers slipped beneath them...

He stilled, and she watched with fascination as a muscle jumped in his jaw. Even now, he was trying to resist, she knew, still trying to keep himself from experiencing this pleasure. As if he was somehow undeserving of anything but pain.

_I am my scars._

Slowly, as one would approach a skittish animal, Aloraia reached up and untied the blindfold across his eyes. He allowed its removal, and blinked his glowing eyes repeatedly as she tossed the fabric away. The muscle in his jaw jumped again, his expression indecipherable. He watched through lidded eyes as she untied her own blindfold. It joined his on the floor. Laid bare before him in such a way left her feeling impossibly vulnerable.

“Illidan,” she said, softly, her palm trailing across his cheekbones, her thumb grazing over his bottom lip. His eyes closed, his brows knit close together, he leaned his head into her touch just an imperceptible fraction. The world slowed, drifted away. It was just the two of them.

Suddenly he pulled away, sitting back on his heels, and for one terrifying moment, she thought he might leave. Instead, he spoke in a low, gravelly voice.

“We have come this far,” he said, loosening his trousers and freeing his aching cock from their confines with a soft groan. “And I always finish what I start.”

Aloraia subconsciously licked her lips at the sight of him unveiled before her. Admittedly she had fantasized quite often of him like this, but she could’ve never imagined some things. Like the lines of fel energy on his body continuing across his shaft, or the slightly pinkish hue of the head, or the girth of him. She squirmed a little, aching to feel him take her, to have him fill her completely. He seemed to recognize her desire, but was nevertheless content to torture her further, taking himself in hand and stroking as his glowing eyes raked across her naked body with zeal. The ferocity was still there, but it’s quieter somehow. Like a caged beast, pacing behind the bars.

“Roll over,” commanded Illidan.

The instinct to obey him was so deeply rooted in her, she was on her hands and knees in an instant, presenting herself without a second thought.

He reached out, sliding his callused hand across the curve of her ass, and shifted closer. With little preamble and the sound of ripping fabric, her smallclothes were suddenly gone and now she was fully nude before him. Gooseflesh chased his touch as his hand slid across her skin, following the whorls of fel ink tattooed across her body. He leaned down, pressing his chest flush against her back, but there was no joining, no carnal slide of his cock into her aching slickness. Oh no, not yet. She could feel his member twitch and press against her waiting folds and it drew from her a frustrated whine.

His lips were at her ear, rumbling words that only deepened her lust.

“Are you prepared, my illidari?” he asked, and his hand seemed to materialize from the ether to find her breast. “You aren’t leaving this chamber until I’ve finished with you,” he continued, tormenting her nipple with pinches and caresses as she trembled. “And even then I might keep you forever.”

The idea of being Illidan’s permanent lover sent a shock of adrenaline to her nerves. Wordlessly, afraid her voice might betray her, she pressed her backside against his hips. The head of his cock slipped against the slickness of her, and he growled his approval. The sound sent a thrill of desire deep into her belly.

“Eager, aren't you? For this?” he asked and again the head of his member slid against the place she so desperately craved him.

“Yes. Yes, I need you.”

And with these words, at last it seemed Illidan’s restraint had broken. He aligned his cock and entered her with a rumbling growl. Slowly, inch by glorious inch, filling her with his girth. For a few moments they were still, both adjusting to the sensation of each other. Illidan brought his mouth to her shoulder and neck, nipping and kissing in equal measure. The idea of the marks he’d leave thrilled her to no end. His arm snaked in front, around her shoulders as he started to move, setting a slow pace at first but quickly picking up speed. In her ear he half-snarled her name and she almost came undone on the spot.

Their pace quickly became punishing, every cell of their skin alight with stimulation. He was pounding into her with every thrust, his grip inexpert but firm on her hips. It was all too much, too good… The pleasure crested, building deep within her, threatening to spill forth at any moment. Her arms felt suddenly weak, and she allowed her torso to slump to the furs, burying her face in the soft greys and whites.  He overlapped her body, enveloped her, inside and out, clouding her senses. It was dizzying. They were two wild animals rutting, mindlessly chasing their release.

When his arm left her shoulders and reached around her hips, she thought he was just trying to adjust his grip. But then his fingers were stroking her clit, circling the sensitive bud until she trembled, and she buried a cry of pleasure in the furs. Illidan’s rumble of a chuckle reverberated through her like the aftershocks of an earthquake.

It would not be long now, for either of them.

“Say my name,” he commanded, slowing his pace to tormentingly lazy. His fingers, however, never ceased their movements on her clit.

“I-Illidan,” said Aloraia, breathless and trembling. Her hands are white-knuckled on the furs, and when his claws grazed her sensitive clit, her hips bucked. Her moans were like a drug to him.

“Good.” He withdrew from her, leaving an aching emptiness inside, but then he rolled her onto her back and he was there, his weight crushing but welcome, his mouth hot and eager and oh, so delicious. He entered her again, groaning through clenched teeth at their joining, barely hesitating a moment before he was thrusting deep. He drew one of her legs over his shoulder, opening her, allowing him better access. This new positioning had his cock hitting all those places that curled her toes, and all too soon the precipice was there.

As she approached the edge, she arched upwards, and Illidan’s arms slipped around her waist, holding her fast against the movement of his hips. Her orgasm fell upon her like a tidal wave, sending ripples of pleasure through her whole body. He followed her over the edge seconds later, slipping out of her at the last moment and spilling himself on her stomach. His dripping cock pulsed as he stroked himself to completion, his pleasured groans echoing within the chamber.

After a moment, their eyes met.

Both breathing heavily, bodies slicked with sweat, hair mussed, neither moved for what seemed to be an eternity. Illidan’s expression was again unreadable. A sinking feeling settled in the pit of her stomach, knowing that a line had been crossed. Knowing things would be irrevocably broken now. Wordlessly he got to his feet, adjusted his trousers, and left the room, entering the side chamber and disappearing from view.

She sat up, face hot with shame. _Stupid mistake._ It had been years since she had last cried, and even though no tears came, her throat constricted painfully.

She was on the verge of stealing one of the furs and fleeing from the room when the sound of his heavy hooves on stone alerted her to his return. Her head snapped up, hardly daring to believe the sight before her.

He was carrying a small basin of steaming water and a washcloth. Kneeling, he set the basin on the floor beside her and wet the washcloth. He wrung out the excess water and handed it to her.

 _Oh._ Hesitantly she cleaned herself off, all too aware of his eyes closely watching her every movement. Her whole body ached deliciously from the rigor and exertion, and fresh bruises were blossoming on her thighs, her hips, her waist. How was she going to explain this to her peers?

The washcloth was returned to the basin as he advanced on her, crawling on all fours and closing the small distance between them. He kissed her deep, pressing her down onto the furs, his wings falling limp at his side and curtaining them. Her arms slid around his neck, her hands buried themselves in his hair. She forgot who she was for a few brief, blissful moments; the taste of his lips was intoxicating.

He broke the kiss, reluctantly, to speak. To issue a command, specifically.

“Sleep,” he said, and turned away.

But wait, where was _he_ going? Aloraia hesitantly laid down on the furs, and stubbornly watched as Illidan disappeared with the basin and returned moments later empty handed. When he saw that she wasn’t asleep, he settled himself behind her, chest against her back, arms and wings cocooning her. He pressed his mouth to her shoulder blade and her heart leapt into her throat.

“I told you to sleep,” he said, his voice a miniature avalanche rumbling through her chest.

“I thought you were leaving.”

Illidan didn’t answer. His arms simply tightened slightly around her, almost possessively, and he buried his face in her hair. Only then did she allow herself to relax. Under normal circumstances, she slept fitfully, tossing and turning and stealing only hours of rest before giving up. She wasn’t sure if it was the exertion hours before or the security of being near him, but she drifted off to a blissful sleep after only a few moments. Her dreams were blank and peaceful.

The next morning, she regained consciousness slowly, fighting for just a few more minutes’ rest. The first thing she became aware of was the pain. Her whole body _ached_ like she’d been mauled by a felstalker.

Her eyes fluttered open. There was no sunlight to waken her as Mardum was perpetually dark, but it was noticeably lighter than when she had fallen asleep. Experimentally, Aloraia stretched, catlike, and felt the strain of her tired muscles. Her body was painted with handprint-shaped bruises and long claw marks. Her fingers traced a particularly long red furrow on her hip, remembering.

She took in her surroundings. Illidan was gone. By the furs she slept on was a pile of clean folded clothing. No doubt procured by an underling from Dalaran, or so she thought. When she pulled the trousers on, she realized with a start that they were _his,_ and thus were about four sizes too big. Pulling the tunic on over her head only confirmed her suspicions: she was absolutely dwarfed by these clothes.

She couldn’t help it. A short bark of laughter escaped her as she stood there, in Lord Illidan’s quarters, holding his enormous borrowed clothing off her frame like she was a tent for the Darkmoon Faire. The ridiculousness of the entire scenario was just too much. She realized that this was his attempt at showing affection. Words and declarations and _feelings_ were never going to be a strong point for him but that was okay. Small gestures like bringing her washcloths and leaving her fresh clothes were enough.

The door suddenly opened and Illidan stepped inside, dressed, cleaned, blindfold on. He took in the sight before him impassively, her standing there, in his overly large clothes, hair tousled from sleep, looking slightly bewildered.

A beat of silence.

“Hm. It would appear that I miscalculated,” he said, entering the room and approaching her. “Clearly those will not suffice.”

Her arms dropped to her sides, and the neck of the tunic slipped off her shoulder, exposing her purple skin peppered with bite marks.“Well, you are --”

“That is not what I meant,” he said, cutting across her and pulling her close. His head dipped, his mouth connected with her neck. A small, appreciative sound escaped him. “You,” he said, between kisses, “are entirely too distracting.”

Perhaps the clothing hadn’t been a simple miscalculation. Illidan rarely made mistakes, after all. Aloraia sighed and melted into his arms.

“As much as I would like to stay here and ruin more clothes,” he said, lifting his head and meeting her gaze. “We are needed on Argus.”

“More of the Burning Legion has been found?”

“Yes. I… I would like to..” Illidan’s lips twisted into a displeased scowl. Words had become difficult.

“...Accompany me?”

“...Yes.”

Aloraia offered him a smile. “I might need to change first,” she said, shuffling back a step and gesturing to her bare legs and the overly-large pants that had dropped and pooled at her ankles. “Into clothes that actually fit?”

Illidan considered her legs carefully for a moment, before crossing his arms and meeting her gaze. His expression was skeptical. “I see no issue.”

Her surprised laughter and bright smile made warmth blossom in his chest and he allowed himself to smirk. Damn but he’s already going soft.

“Lead the way, Lord Illidan, and I will gladly follow.”

He believed her.  


**Author's Note:**

> this is probably ooc but i don't care my man i ju st dont fuc kin c are


End file.
